


Hard On For Love

by siriuslyhiddenlawyer



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Dom Molly Hooper, Established Sherlock Holmes/Molly Hooper, Established Sherlolly, F/M, Post TFP, Sherlolly - Freeform, Spanking, Sub Sherlock Holmes, one year anniversary, sherlolly smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-20
Updated: 2018-01-20
Packaged: 2019-03-07 01:36:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13423947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/siriuslyhiddenlawyer/pseuds/siriuslyhiddenlawyer
Summary: Molly and Sherlock discover a new kink as she bakes him a batch of ginger nuts.





	Hard On For Love

**Author's Note:**

> Adult content below, this is basically just porn so reader discretion advised!

            Neither of them knew how it happened.

            And neither of them really cared to figure it out, too lost in the moment between them, too lost in the sensation of simply belonging to the other, and taking pleasure from each other.

            It was their one-year anniversary, one year since Sherlock had finally come to Molly’s flat, to explain the phone call in person. It had been two days after Sherrinford, after Greg Lestrade and Mycroft’s MOD men had swept her apartment for explosives and cameras. Sherlock had broken into her flat, and in the darkness of her bedroom, they had finally let go of any constraints, any restraints.

            It had been a year filled with surprises, of Molly and her Sherlock learning about each other, becoming familiar with the intimacy of a couple deeply and passionately in love. Clumsy at first, they had fallen into a rhythm together, with Sherlock stumbling through the revelations and trauma that had brought him to his knees at Sherrinford. And Molly…Molly always there to catch him, to fill his nights with love, with laughter, with feather lightness.

            She had moved in two months later, and here they were…their one-year anniversary together, as a couple.

            Molly had the day off, which meant she had spent most of it in the kitchen baking for her… she paused…her what? Boyfriend seemed too juvenile. Flat-mate too vague to convey what they shared, partner was usually her favorite although she felt it lacked passion.

            _Soulmate._

_Lover._

_Love of her life._

            _Her Sherlock_.

            When he’d gotten home, their flat smelled like ginger nuts, the scent of cinnamon, ginger, and nutmeg swirling around her in the hot kitchen. Impatient, he’d grabbed a hand full of the too-hot cookies, burning his hand. To sooth him, she had kissed and licked his palm, tasting the achingly familiar saltiness of his skin with the hint of the sweetness from the cookies, running her tongue between those long elegant fingers. His palm was unharmed, just a little red from his impulsiveness, but he seared her with his gaze as she licked and sucked him.

            With his long index in her mouth, something had shifted between them, the hunger and desperation for each other consuming them both as he’d drawn her against his body, against his warmth. He’d hissed when she’d bitten the pad of his finger, his own hand traveling down….down…finding that stretch of skin right at the small of her back, beneath the ratty t-shirt she wore over sweatpants too large for her slight frame.

            Breathless with anticipation, she had been trembling as he moved his hand from her mouth, drawing it down her cheek in a wet caress, brushing his lips to hers. She watched the way his nebulas eyes had dropped down to her mouth, a slight frown creasing his brow as if caught between agony and ecstasy, inching closer and closer to brush his open mouth to hers. She had gripped the lapels of his coat, lost in all that was Sherlock, letting him sweep his tongue into her mouth and moaned.

            He smelled like the sea, his clothes slightly damp, hair disheveled as it always was when he came back from Sherrinford. The desperation she tasted, felt in his touch breaking her heart, knowing he would never put into words how much pain it caused him to make those trips to Sherrinford, to confront his sister and their past. But he went, and always returned to her, knowing he would find some solace there with his Molly. “Oh my love,” she had murmured when he’d pulled away for air. Molly had unbuttoned his trousers, running the back of her fingers over the silken trail of gingery hair that ran from his bellybutton to neatly frame his cock.

            Molly had ended up on her knees in front of him, taking him down her throat as much as she could, tasting him, relishing the devastatingly intimate, familiar taste of his cock. She had watched him intently when she swirled her tongue around the thick tip of his prick, lapping up the come that dribbled at his head with her every stroke. She loved the way he looked down at her, the high flush on his cheekbones, the heat in his eyes, the way his curls framed his face like a black halo. What she loved more was the way he let his head fell back, his throat working as he moaned his pleasure at the ceiling when she’d touched her tongue to that delicious triangle of skin right beneath his tightening bollocks, her hand stroking him languidly.

            That’s when it had happened. He had reached out to grab her stale mug of tea from the counter to have a drink and she had brought her hand down hard on his ass as a way to chastise him for ruining the moment. Sherlock had gasped, his entire body arching as if a great archer had him strung to a bow, the white mug crashing and shattering to pieces on the floor next to Molly. His hand had come to grip her hair, his erection jerked in her hand.

            And here they were, his hand reflexively tightening around her hair as she stared up at him, mortified.

            “Sherlock,” she gasped, standing up, careful of the shards of broken mug around her, “darling I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you!”

            He shook his head, eyes squeezed shut, his delicious mouth a thin line as she pressed kisses to his cheeks, his jaw, “you didn’t,” he whispered, his voice having dropped a few octaves, his words garbled, “Christ,” he hissed, his hands gripping her hips, his fingers digging into her sides, “you didn’t hurt me.”

            She pulled back to look at him, _really_ look at him and realize she had hurt him.

            But he enjoyed it.

            As a way of experimenting, she ran her hands over his waist, resting them on the muscular, luscious globes of his ass, and he dropped his face to her throat, hiding from her. “Sherlock,” she whispered his name, bringing her hand down to slap him again, the sound of her palm hitting him seeming to ricochet throughout the kitchen. He gasped in shock, his erection throbbing against her stomach as she rubbed his tender flesh. “Oh my,” she shivered, running her hands down to cup him in her palms, kneading his muscles, “did we just discover a new kink?”

            “More,” was the only thing he could say, the only way he could respond, his face still buried against her throat, “more.”

            She used her other hand, bringing it down harder, making him shout, his body losing balance and for a moment she thought he was going to fall on her. He threw a hand on the counter for balance, holding himself upright as she rubbed her stinging palm against the skin she had slapped. Molly’s mind went into overdrive, consumed with the need, the single-minded goal of bringing him pleasure. Careful not to step on the broken shards with her bare feet, she grabbed Sherlock’s hand, leading him to their bedroom. With his trousers and briefs around his ankles, he wobbled but never said a word as he followed her.

            They stood in front of each other silently for a few minutes, the muscles in his jaw ticking, the air between crackling with energy, with the knowledge that they were about to cross a line in their intimacy. And there was no going back for either of them.

            “Strip,” she told him, her voice shaking and less-than-commanding, but he obeyed, kicking off his shoes, trousers, and briefs. He methodically unbuttoned his pristine white shirt, carelessly tossing everything behind him. And there he stood before her, naked and hers, vibrating with need. She walked in a circle around him, her nipples tightening when she saw the red marks on the alabaster skin of his ass, and a part of her shivered to life, making her want to leave her handprint there.

            Molly’s eyes traced the breadth of his shoulders, the muscles tapering down to his lean waist, the surprising flare of his bottom leading down to his long, long legs. She had never really been into men’s behinds, had never really considered it an asset to pay attention to or really love…until Sherlock. Predictably, he defied everything she ever knew about herself.

            Like how much she enjoyed having him at her mercy, how she relished this new control she had over him. She walked around to face him, finding his eyes down cast. “Look at me darling,” Molly said with a soft voice and his eyes flipped up, bright as sunbeams, holding the secrets of the universe in their depths, “good boy,” she murmured before she could stop herself, watching the flush creep from his marble white skin up his neck, a slight shiver of pleasure rolling across his body.

            She lifted her shirt above her head, tossing it somewhere behind her, heard his intake of breath as she kicked off her sweatpants, keeping her knickers on. She stepped into his body, rubbing her breasts against his chest, feeling the heat of his skin through the lace cups of her bra, “do you want me to take off my bra, Sherlock?” Molly asked, brushing her lips to his chin, biting him gently.

            “Yes,” he said breathlessly, ducking his head to bury his face against her throat but she didn’t let him.

            She realized he was trying to hide his face from her, trying to hide the pleasure he felt at this newly discovered kink, “yes, what?” she asked, grabbing a chunk of his hair and forcing him to look at her.

            He hissed, “yes, I want you to take your bra off.”

            “Why?” she asked, pulling at his black curls, “tell me.”

            “I want to see your breasts,” Sherlock’s voice was barely above a whisper now, his eyes squeezed shut as she rubbed her hips into him, nestling his throbbing cock between them.

            “You like my breasts?” Molly asked, her free hand running down his back, slipping a finger between cheek, simple resting it there against him.

            “Yes,” he caught himself this time, quick learner that he was, “I like your breasts.”

            She made a humming sound in the back of her throat, “I’ll take off my bra if you earn it,” she told her love, pressing her fingertip against his tight hole, making him jump. She grinned at him, brushing her lips to his, “does that sound fair?”

            A bit of the old Sherlock broke through the haze, a smirk lifting the corner of his mouth, “not really,” he murmured.

            Without mercy, Molly bit his collarbone as hard as she could, making him curse and shout so loud that she wondered if Mrs. Hudson could hear them. But she was beyond caring as she released him, satisfied with the mark she left behind as she stepped away from his body. She carefully put on a mask of anger and disapproval, crossing her arms in front of her chest. “Right then,” she was beyond proud of the authority she managed to insert into her voice when she was quivering and shaking on the inside, boiling and desperate to feel him inside her, “get on the bed. On all fours, facing the closet.”

            He obeyed silently, Molly watching him with unabashed hunger, her own core throbbing as she watched his graceful movements, the fluidity of his muscles as he positioned him just as she had directed. Once she was sure he was watching, she went to their closet and grabbed his tan house coat, her favorite, and pulled it on, closing it tightly around her naked body. “Good little boys get to see me naked,” she told him, “bad little boys who don’t listen don’t get to see, or taste my breasts,” she walked slowly towards him with a raised brow, “do you think you can earn the right to taste me, Sherlock?”

            “Yes,” he breathed and she saw that he was gripping the deep purple comforter so tightly, his knuckles were turning white.

            Humming softly, Molly ran a hand over his back to the dip at the base of his spine, rubbing the pink flesh of ass. She scraped his skin with her fingernails, imagining how hard he would come inside her, imagining the power she could hold over him now when he was fucking her, bringing her hand down to smack him, to push him over the edge. Molly shivered, clenching her thighs and brought herself back to the present moment, reminded herself that this was about Sherlock. “How many slaps will punish you, do you think?” she murmured. “5?”

            “Not nearly enough,” he groaned, arching into her hand, “Christ, Molly, do what you want but touch me or let me touch myself.”

            “Impertinent,” she murmured, “10,” she said resolutely, “but keep on pushing your luck darling boy, and it’s going to be more.”

            Sherlock cursed vehemently, ducking his head and she realized he was taking deep, steadying breaths. From where she stood beside him, she could see his cock, hard and pulsing, so erect that she wondered if he was in any pain. She’d never been so aggressive during sex, had never imagined that she would relish the way he gave himself to her, the way he trusted her with his vulnerability. “Molly,” he hissed as she let the moment drag a little.

            “Can you count to ten, Sherlock Holmes,” she asked, climbing on the bed and kneeling beside him.

            “Yes,” he answered readily.

            “That’s my boy,” she cooed, using one hand to push head down on the mattress, forcing him to lift his hips. Her heart thundering, she bent down and kissed his cheek, soothing his black curls away from his face, “do you want me to stop?” she murmured, suddenly worried she was going too far.

            But he shook his head, something in his eyes making them glow, “I…I think I need this from you,” he whispered, frowning, “I don’t know if it’s fair to you or not but—”

            “Hush,” she kissed his cheek, “whatever you need. Just tell me if you need me to stop.”

            He nodded jerkily, half of his face pressed against the mattress. He squeezed his eyes shut as she rose up to her knees again, the housecoat having fallen open with her movements, the cool air of their bedroom a kiss against her skin. The pit of her stomach clenched as she thought of how she would make him come, how he would look, lost in ecstasy.

            Molly took a deep breath and brought her hand down, landing hard against his prone flesh and he growled, pressing his face into the mattress as she rubbed the sting. “One,” he groaned, his voice distorted, deep.

            “Good,” she encouraged him, bringing down the second slap on his left cheek, watching the skin redden beneath her palm.

            “Two,” he counted, and she knew his cock was throbbing, could see the way it jerked with every smack.”

            “My Sherlock,” Molly told him, her own palm stinging as she brought it down on the opposite cheek.

            “Three,” he dragged the word out, the flush from his chest rising to his throat, coloring his high cheekbones. His beautiful, glistening lips were parted as he panted for air, the crease between his eyebrows deep as he squeezed his eyes shut.

            She brought her hand down hard and fast for the next four, not letting him catch his breath. Sherlock was rocking in the position she’d put him in, arching into her palm with every stinging slap, the milky smoothness of his cheeks now red, baring her handprint. He was growling deep in his chest, making the most incredible sounds of hunger and yearning, a desperate keening breaking from him with each blow. Letting him catch his breath finally after the sixth blow, she pressed her lips to the base of his spine.

            “Such a good boy,” Molly murmured, dipping her tongue into the dimple at the base of his spine, tasting the sweat that now covered his body, bringing her hand to cup his heavy testicles, massaging him gently. Seven nearly propelled him to the ground, the entire frame shaking with his movement as he strained, his mouth opening wider as he tried to breathe through the sensations in his body. When she got to eight, she realized tears were pouring out from beneath his shut eyes. “Sherlock….”

            “Don’t stop,” his growled, his voice breaking but clear, “finish me.”

            Nine earned him another kiss, this time right at his cleft, teasing him as she wiggled her tongue down, enticing him further as her thumb and forefinger circled the thick base of his prick, “you’ve been so good,” she murmured, “you can pick where you want to come.”

            “Inside you,” he answered without hesitation, as if he’d been waiting for her to ask him, anticipating it. She brought her hand down with all her might, watching his muscles ripple with the impact, watched another impression of her hand forming there in red, “ten!” he yelled, “fuck!”

            Without waiting, Molly pushed him on his back and he didn’t fight it, landing on with his arms above his head, his erection hard and aching against his stomach. The tears that streaked his cheek made her pause, but he didn’t seem too concerned about them and she was too far gone to stop now. She could feel her own arousal between her thighs, her throbbing clit, the pit of her stomach clenching painfully, so aroused that she didn’t have the patience to take off her knickers. Straddling him, she managed to push them aside as she slid him deep inside her, moaning as she smiled, unable to ever get used to how incredible he felt.

            Planting her hands on his chest, she looked deep into her lover’s eyes as she sank onto him, burying his thickness inside her, surrounding him with her warmth. She leaned down, licking the tears from his cheeks, tasting the saltiness on her tongue. When he was fully seated inside her, she held herself there, enjoying the sensation of being so stretched by him. “Sherlock,” she gasped, as she started rocking on top of him slowly.

            He lifted his head off the mattress, one hand impatiently pulling down the lace cups of her bra as his mouth pressed desperate, open mouth kisses against her breastbone before drawing her nipple into his mouth, suckling her, “sometimes,” his voice reverberated through her, “I’m so deep inside you Molly, I feel like I can feel your womb.”

            Moaning, she clenched him tighter within her, her movements becoming jerky, losing her rhythm with every thrust until she couldn’t hold any thought inside her head, until all that existed for her was Sherlock. Falling forward, she kissed him slowly, licking the inside of his mouth as he finally let go, as he finally came so incredibly deep inside her, filling her. Her own orgasm ripped through her, shattering her, and she let her head fall back in a scream, curling her fingers into his chest and nearly drawing blood.

            She collapsed onto of him, gasping for air as he put his heavy arms around her, pressing a gasping kiss against her forehead. “That was fun,” he said after a while, his voice back to its normal, arrogant self, sounding as if they were sitting in some pristine sitting room having tea, “although, I doubt I’ll be able to sit comfortably for a while.”      

            Giggling, managing to lift her head enough to look down at him, his extraordinarily shaped eyes sleepy and soft with the force of his orgasm, with the knowledge that he was safe with her. “Do you mind?”

            “Not at all,” he grinned, cupping her face in his palm, stroking her mouth with his thumb.

            She opened her mouth slightly, drawing his thumb into her mouth, “I wonder what else you’re hiding from me. Kink wise.”

            “Well,” he murmured, his eyes mischievous now, “I had this fantasy once that you called me ‘daddy’.”

            “Oooh,” she bit her lip, “I’m strangely comfortable with that.”


End file.
